


Buyer's remorse

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: References to dub-con, Slavery, mini-fill, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas wasn't one to buy things on impulse. How he ended up with a slave was anybody's guess.</p><p>Based off a prompt in the CP kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Usually Douglas was not one for impulse buys. He always took his time to read the reviews, find the best deals, weigh his options, then buy. He didn't want to come home and realize he just bought a piece of junk.

How he ended up with a short, red-haired slave was anybody's guess.

Martin Crieff stood awkwardly by the front door entrance, with his head down, his hands cupped delicately across his stomach. He was so still, he could be mistaken for a statue. It was really a fascinating thing to watch.

"You know, you can come in further," Douglas said as he took off his own jacket. "You don't need to stand there."

Maritn briefly looked up, then back down. "My feet are filthy," he said quietly. "I will get your carpet dirty."

Douglas glanced down at Martin's feet. They were indeed dirty, but it was not as if they were dripping mud. "That's okay. I don't mind."

Another quick look. With some hesitation, he stepped forward onto the carpet. He did not go any further than that.

"Right..." Douglas murmured more to himself. "Right..."

He hadn't really planned to come home that day with a slave in tow. He was never really into the idea of slavery (never that much into freedom of slaves, either) but curiosity and not wishing to go home so early made him wander around the slave trades.

He passed merchant to merchant in a daze, not at all interested in buying collars, whips, or chains. He occasionally considered, though not in all seriousness, the slave women who winked at him, pushing up their breasts, telling him how good of a buy they were. In all, it was an atmosphere of fascination and uncomfortableness. He did not know how so many others could come here everyday.

He found himself standing in the crowds of an auction, idling watching as they sold off slaves who were considered 'average'. That meant they held no particular skill or trade, their potential found mainly in housework.

It was at this, Douglas had considered leaving. He'd been here for nearly an hour now and he was cold and he was bored. Now home didn't seem so bad when hot tea was in his future.

The auctioneer brought up the next slave, quickly announcing the age, height and general weight of the slave. Thirty-one, 5'6, and a mere one hundred and thirty-seven pounds. The slave was naked from the waist up, showing off his thinness and pale skin. His head was down, eyes to the ground, as the crowd shouted out various bids for him.

Above, the sound of an aeroplane flew over them.

Douglas had initially ignored it, but the slave,  _he_  turned his head up to the sky. He blinked in fascination.

He smiled.

Douglas raised his hand and bought him immediately. He didn't even think twice.

Now he wished he did, because he had a small man  _still_  standing awkwardly in his home and neither of them knew what to do next.

Douglas eyed the dirt caked on Martin's feet, wrists, and face. Geeze, did the auctioneers bothered giving their slaves a bath beforehand? Okay, first things first. "There's a shower upstairs."

Martin did not move.

For a moment Douglas thought the slave was ignoring him. Then he realized he didn't exactly give an order, now did he? "Martin, go upstairs and take a shower. There's towels in the hall closet if you need them."

"Yes sir," Martin said, with his head still down. "Will you be joining me?"

Douglas choked on his own spit. "N-no! No. Um... I just want you clean. Okay? Shave, wash, and anything else you need to do."

"Yes sir," Martin bowed lightly. When he didn't move, he asked, "Am I dismissed?"

God, fuck, was Douglas going have to command every fucking thing? "Yes, yes you are."

Martin bowed again. With his head still down, he left for the stairs, his feet barely making sound on the carpet floor.

Douglas sighed heavily to himself. What the hell was he going to do?


	2. Chapter 2

 

At least the housework got done.

Douglas never considered himself a messy man- living with three women have trained him to pick up after himself- but not even he could deny how wonderful it was not to wash the dishes anymore. The laundry got done quicker, the floors were swept with better proficiency. It was rather a relief to come home after a week of flying to find the house inviting, instead of trudging through a pile of mail, watering dying plants and dust collecting everywhere.

Martin was a punctual slave too. When Douglas came home after days being overseas, it was a pleasant surprise to come through the doors to find a nice hot meal ready for him. It didn't matter how long Douglas was gone or what time he came in, food was prepared.

Unfortunately the awkwardness has not ended. Martin never spoke unless spoken to, never looked Douglas in the eye. Douglas supposed this was how Martin- or maybe slaves in general- was trained.

As Douglas slurped down a spoonful of delicious beef stew, out of the corner of his eye he could see Martin waiting patiently by the kitchen door. He was in his usual stance, hands clasped and head down. He would stay in that position until Douglas was finished, gathering all the dirty dishes to wash them.

As wonderful as the food was, sitting here in the quiet made his skin itch.

"Books that sound better with the last letter knocked off."

Martin twitched at the prompt. Unless it was a direct order, he never responded to any of Douglas' mumbles or spoken thoughts. Douglas really didn't want to order Martin into playing. That was no fun.

"Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fir."

Martin was listening. Douglas knew he was.

"Romeo and Julie."

That got a little smirk. Barely noticible. He quickly concealed it.

"The Jungle Boo."

Slowly, very slowly Martin raised his eyes up to Douglas. Not directly making contact, but enough to know Douglas had his attention. He licked his lips in anticipation. "The Hound," Martin began. "Of the Baskerville."

Douglas snorted. "Are you serious?"

Quickly Martin diverted his eyes.

Douglas was not going to let this go. "I know you can be more creative than that. The Grapes of Wrat."

Martin pondered, this time taking a moment to really think. "The Call of the Wil."

"Ooh, much better. 'Uncle Tom's Cabi.'"

"The Invisible Ma."

"Black Beaut."

"Two Men in a Boa."

"Pride and Prejudic!" Martin suddenly dissolved into giggles, cupping his mouth to hide them. He sobered quickly, biting down on his lips to erase the smile he had on.

"Very good," Douglas said and meaning it. "That's a start."


	3. Chapter 3

Douglas wished he could say things got easier after that. It didn't. He didn't know what type of training Martin was put through, but after that little word game, Martin made twice the effort to keep his mouth shut.

Douglas supposed he could understand. He's read quite a number of stories of cruel Masters who have beaten their slaves to death for insignificant mistakes. Martin has probably heard more, seen more and was not going to risk his life on a possibility Douglas was just having fun with him.

It made Douglas' stomach twist unpleasantly at the thought of it.

In the end, Douglas stopped trying to lull Martin out of his shell. It was probably best to let the boy stay in his bubble of reassurance.

With a sigh, Douglas marked his spot in 'The Scarlett Letter' by folding down a corner sleeve. His mother always berated him for the doing that. A little sense of juvenile rebellious thrill always got to him every time he did it. He wanted to read a couple of pages today now that he had the time and instead spent most of it thinking about Martin.

Douglas got up from his chair and shuffled to his personal library and slotted the novel back in its proper place.

Though Douglas will try to convince you he was a literary man, most of the books in his library were only there to impress the cultured ladies. As a result, a good deal of his books have never been opened and the ones he has read haven't been touched in a while.

So he easily noticed when one of his old flight manuals were out of place.

It was sticking out, just enough for Douglas to see the edges of the title on the front cover.

Douglas only kept these books if he needed to brush up on something. Very rarely had he ever needed to flip through their pages. So why...?

With one finger on the spine, Douglas pushed the book back in its place. He double-checked all the other books. None of them had been touched. Maybe Martin moved the book to dust around them? That was plausible enough.

Except now curiosity had grabbed onto Douglas and held on tightly. Something told him there was more going on than he suspected. Besides, its not like Douglas had anything else going on at the moment.

 

 

 

Martin was careful. Very careful. It was as if he knew Douglas was watching him for cues and avoided the book shelf religiously. There were signs though, Douglas could see, of Martin practically  _aching_  to look at the flight manuals again. Sometimes his eyes would glance over for a split second and his fingers would curl.

Technically, it was in Douglas' rights to punish Martin if Douglas ever suspected his slave wanted to cut and run.

Douglas wouldn't, of course. He wasn't a goddamn  _sadist_  but he did pay a good deal of money for Martin. Douglas would be very upset if he came home one day and found his investment suddenly up and ran.

Still, longing looks at books wasn't enough grounds for punishment.

 

 

 

 

Though it was common for people to bring their slaves with them when they went shopping, Douglas felt very out of place. He decided it was time for him to get used to this and besides, he needed the extra hands to carry the packages.

As November slowly gave way to December, the stores slowly became more and more crowded as people shopped for Christams presents. Douglas planned to do all his shopping today, knowing there was a very good chance Carolyn would force Douglas to fly most of the month.

Trailing quietly behind him was Martin, his arms laden with bags and packages. He was quiet, but Douglas could see he was enjoying this. As a house slave, Martin must not get many opportunities to be outside or even in public. His eyes were innocently wide as he took in the early Christmas decorations.

While it was Martin's job to carry the load of gifts, Douglas felt very uneasy walking around with nothing in his arms. He compromised by letting Martin carry some of the heavier, bulkier items while Douglas carried the delicate gifts in paper bags.

It was beautiful weather that day and the Christmas spirit was everywhere. There were carolers, wonderful light displays and the smell of warm food wafted the air. It put Douglas in such a good mood, he got through his shopping list without incident (unlike last year's fiasco where an old woman knocked him across the head with her brolly). By the time lunch rolled around, he was feeling generous.

Now Douglas knew there were certain etiquette rules regarding public slaves. Some Masters preferred their slaves to wait outside by the car. Other slaves were expected to help restaurant staff during the course of their Master's meal. If slaves did sit with their Masters, they spent the meal either tending to the children or acting like living decorations, showing off their Master's wealth.

These were etiquette rules, not actual laws, so Douglas couldn't give two hoots if he knew them or not. "I'm hungry," he declared as soon as Martin placed the gifts inside the boot of the car. "What are you in the mood for?"

Martin startled. Shit, fuck, that's right, he's not used to being asked such questions. "Sir?"

"Do you want Chinese? What about Italian?"

"I... I've eaten Chinese."

In other words, 'I've eaten the left-overs of my Master's meal.'

"Italian it is, then," Douglas declared. "I know a good place."

A few minutes later they were sitting down at the restaurant, waiting for a waiter to take their order. Martin kept twitching in his seat, clearly uneasy of sitting at the table instead of waiting by the door with the other slaves. "Calm down, Martin," Douglas told him. "You look like you need to use the toilet."

Martin tried his best to settle down. "I've never been in a restaurant before," he said quietly. "My past Masters always made me wait by the car."

"Now you have the rare opportunity to do something new." Douglas lifted up the menu. "Do you see anything you might want to try?"

Martin hesitantly lifted up his own menu. He ducked his head behind it to hide the shy smile creeping on his face.

Finally, the waitress came by their table. It was about time too, Douglas was getting impatient and he certainly didn't want to lose his Christmas cheer over this. "Hello, young miss. May I get two waters and iced tea-"

He paused when he noticed she wasn't bothering to write down his order. Instead, she was looking at Martin. Turning back to Doulgas, she jabbed a thumb in Martin's direction and said, "You do know slaves are suppose to be waiting in the front of the restaurant?"

Martin turned red. He moved to get up from his seat.

"Sit down," Doulgas ordered. To the waitress he said, "There's no law stating I cannot have my slave with me at the table."

"This restaurant does not cater to  _second-class_  citizens."

"You  _cater_  to those who are  _paying_."

"They're not paying me enough for this."

It would have been easy tearing this girl apart. There were so many things Douglas could focus his attentions on, put this brat in her place. Except Douglas could see how her comments were making Martin feel.

Martin, refusing to disobey Douglas' order, sat in the chair, trying to make himself as small as possible. He flushed miserably, keeping his head down and eyes averted like his first day in Douglas' house. No, Martin shouldn't have to suffer this indignity. Not during Christmas.

"Your menus are overpriced," Douglas said stupidly, just to get one last (lame) dig in. "Martin, let's go."

 

 

 

 

His good mood was gone. Douglas hated having to run from a fight like that, especially when he knew he wasn't in the wrong. Worse, he was still hungry. Anger and hunger did not sit well together and on the drive home, Douglas kept gripping the wheel in attempts to calm himself.

He was doing a piss-poor job of it. From the corner of his eye he could see Martin sitting stiffly from the passenger seat.

There were plenty of stories in the media of Masters beating their slaves just because they were angry. Despite the many laws regarding slave rights and protection, many abusive Masters get away with murder because technically, slaves were held no higher than a house lamp.

And you wouldn't arrest someone for destroying their own lamp.

So Douglas knew, he  _knew_  coming from a slave's persepctive, having an angry Master was not something to trifle with. Martin was probably terrified.

"I'm not angry at you," Douglas said, pulling into his driveway.

"I know," Martin said quietly.

"Even if I was... I won't... I'm not..."

"I know."

It sounded like he understood. Douglas should feel relieved but he didn't. He was still pissed. He unbuckled his seatbelt and practically kicked open his car door, wanting to get in the house.

God, he needed to calm down, this was getting ridiculous.

He was thankful to Martin who followed him into the house and politely closed the front door behind him. Douglas stalked to the kitchens, thinking about tea and hoping giving his hands something to do will help. He just grabbed the teapot from the cupboard when Martin's soft voice came from behind. "Master?"

Douglas twisted around just in time to see Martin  _drop_. Douglas panicked for a nano-second, thinking Martin had fainted.

He didn't. Martin kneeled so fast, it was amazing he didn't crack his knees against the floor. His hands immediately went to Douglas' belt and started unfastening it.

"Martin! What-!"

Douglas tried to push him away. Martin resisted and wrapped his arms around Douglas' waist, pressing his face against Douglas' crotch. His voice was muffled against the fabric.

"Please, let me do this. You're so good to me. Nobody has never... please."

"Martin, this isn't funny. Get up,  _get up_."

Martin refused to move. "I know you know about the flight manuals."

Douglas froze.

"I'm not trying to run away," Martin continued, pulling back enough to lift his head up to Douglas to look at him. "I swear, I know better. I just... I've always wanted to be a pilot as a kid and the temptation of it was too much. You're a pilot. My Master is a  _pilot_. And you're not cruel, you don't hit me or ignore me and today you stood up for me. Nobody has ever done that for me,  _ever_. You had it in your right to discipline me the moment you suspected I was trying to leave and you did nothing. Please, Master, I don't have much to give..." He pressed his hand against Douglas' crotch. "But I'm good at this. Let me do this for you."

Douglas wanted to push him away, to tell him no, this was wrong, that he was NOT that type of Master. He tried to open his mouth, tried to say that but his throat went dry.

His hands gripped the counter behind him.

Taking that as permission, Martin continued. With experienced movement, he undid Douglas' belt, popped open the front button and pulled down the zipper.

Douglas was already hard, he was shamed to say. His last wife was not a fan of oral sex (receiving or giving) and it had been quite some time since someone had their mouth on him. Martin pulled out his erection, leaned close and quietly released a slow breath against the heated skin.

Douglas shuddered.

Martin began with little teasing licks, tiny kisses, and soft touches as if trying to figure out where to go from there.

Maybe he didn't know. Maybe Douglas made him believe he had to do this.

And as if to prove Douglas wrong, Martin looked up, and keeping direct eye contact, swallowed Douglas down at an agonizing slow pace.

He didn't gag, he showed no signs of discomfort. When his nose made contact with Douglas' pubic hair, still keeping eye-contact, he swallowed.

The familiar, long forgotten sensation had Douglas throwing his head back, almost cracking it against the cabinets behind him. It took nearly everything he had to keep from thrusting, to keep his hand from grabbing a fist-full of hair.

Martin was done with the teasing. He bobbed his head, sucking and slurping and pressing his tongue against the most needed of places.

No way in hell was this improvised. Somebody had to teach Martin this, this technique had to be be practiced. The thought of Martin, on his knees, his face being fucked by someone else, was the pea in the mattress.

This wasn't right. Martin shouldn't be doing this.

Martin pulled away suddenly, replacing his mouth with his hand, pumping Douglas' wet cock rapidly. "Don't," he said. "Don't feel sorry for me. I wanted to learn this. Pleasure slaves were always treated more kindly than house slaves. By learning this, wanting this, I escaped so much."

He paused to swirl his tongue around Douglas' tip.

"That first day when I offered myself to you, I only did it to test the waters. Those who accept my offers straight away are trouble. They're the ones who leave me with welts and bruises. Those who hesitate are gentler. Kinder."

He took Douglas back into his mouth, swallowing him a few times before pulling back.

"But  _nobody_  has ever denied me. Ever. You confused me, and I feared for a long time of your little word games, the way you never truly gave me a direct order... I thought you were trying to confuse me, force me to lower my guard."

He twisted his hand in such a way Douglas bucked almost violently, crying out.

"After today, I see that's not the reason.  _You're nice_. And I've never had that."

"You shouldn't-" Douglas was gasping, struggling to get the words out. "You shouldn't have to reward me for being nice."

"No," said Martin, lowering his mouth back onto Douglas' cock. "But I want to."

There was no more talking after that.

 

 

 

The dish was nothing fancy. It was a simple egg omelette, filled with whatever Douglas could find in the fridge. But when he scooped it out of the pan and onto Martin's plate, Martin blushed. "Thank you," he said shyly as if less than half hour ago he didn't have Douglas' cock in his mouth.

Douglas sat down across from him, tea in hand. "Do you like flying that much?"

Martin nodded, his mouth full of egg. "I'll be forty in a few years, then I'll be eligable to sign for my Release of Servitude. Once I'm a free man, I'll go for my flying license."

"By the time the paperwork goes through, you'll be in your fifties."

"It's a goal," Martin said matter of factly. He shoveled in more egg. "Mmm... this is good."

"Well, until then, you're more than welcome to read my flight manuals... judging from that look, I think you already knew I'd say that."

Martin shook his head. He smirked. "No, I didn't."


End file.
